


to think of cinnamon (and long for you)

by MarcellaBianca



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15581397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: “Have you told him yet?”Bucky looked up from the cashwrap to glare at the speaker. Natasha Romanov, Bucky’s best friend, was leaning on the countertop, eyes flashing with conspiracy. She was dressed casually today, or as casual as she knew how, in hightop sneakers, black skinny jeans, and a hoodie that probably cost more than Bucky’s rent. (When he asked her what the hell she did to make so much money, Nat simply rolled her eyes and said, “Please.”)“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he handwaved. “Now get out of the way, I have customers.”





	to think of cinnamon (and long for you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephrc79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/gifts).



> This is for Steph, because it is her BIRTHDAY tomorrow!!!! WHOO HOO!!!! 
> 
> I asked her what she wanted for her birthday. Her request was simple: Coffee-shop AU. And I will provide. This is the goopiest, sappiest thing I've ever written. And her other request - that it take place at Gregory's, aka the best coffee in the state of New York. (She took me, and I am now obsessed, so she ain't wrong.)
> 
> I love you, Steph! Thank you for being such an amazing friend. <3 And thanks to Meg for being my beta!!!

“Have you told him yet?”

Bucky looked up from the cashwrap to glare at the speaker. Natasha Romanov, Bucky’s best friend, was leaning on the countertop, eyes flashing with conspiracy. She was dressed casually today, or as casual as she knew how, in hightop sneakers, black skinny jeans, and a hoodie that probably cost more than Bucky’s rent. (When he asked her what the hell she did to make so much money, Nat simply rolled her eyes and said, “Please.”)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he handwaved. “Now get out of the way, I have customers.”

Nat gave him a staredown that Bucky was positive he’d seen used to interrogate psychopaths on  _ Criminal Minds _ , and slipped over to the right, moving her elbow out of its previous position of nearly upsetting the fresh bananas Bucky had precariously stacked next to the register when he came in for his shift at 5:30 that morning. 

She kept those eyes on him. Bucky could feel them as he took orders for the 10AM regulars - acrobat Clint Barton (large Night Vision), CEO Pepper Potts (green juice, large green tea) and her husband, billionaire philanthropist Tony Stark (depended on the day, but today it was the Red Eye) and student Darcy Lewis (Charcoal Mylk, which made Bucky want to dry heave every time he made it for her, but he kept his mouth shut lest he get a lecture about the benefits of charcoal on your bowels). 

The whole time Bucky could feel her. He hated how Nat’s job, as much as it paid, allowed her to swan into Gregory’s any time she damn well pleased and annoy him. 

(Secretly he liked it, because he adored Nat and her presence made the long days bearable, especially on the days when Steve wasn’t working.)

The second Bucky had breathing room, Nat was on him like a vulture, stirring yet more sweetener into her turmeric latte. “Why haven’t you told him? He walked in this morning and you looked like you’d seen a puppy. Or something you’d want to both wrap up in a blanket, and hump the brains out of -” 

“Nat.”

“I’m just saying, hasn’t it been like a thousand years -”

“Two years.”

“And you’ve been working with him -”

“The whole time, yes-”

“And you’ve had a crush on him-”

“ _ The whole time, _ yes, you know all of this, Tash,” Bucky snapped, feeling his entire face grow hot, and he was nowhere near the steamer so he couldn’t blame it on anything but his own fucking hormones. And it was  _ way  _ more than a crush. How dare she demean the purity, the depth of Bucky’s feelings, by depreciating them to a mere  _ crush? _

Natasha, damn her, just shrugged, and sipped her drink. 

“Are you ever going to settle on something you’ll order every time?” Bucky asked, desperate to change the subject as he always was when he knew Nat was right.

Thankfully, Nat understood, and went along with it. “It’s like when you first got this job and wanted to try all the food.” She flicked her hand at the display case, sagging with pastries fresh-baked and delivered that morning. “I want to see if there’s something on here that I like the best out of all of them. Can’t do that if I don’t know what something tastes like.”

She had a point. When Bucky first started working at Gregory’s as a part-time barista three years ago at the Wall Street location, he took one look at the freshly prepared pastries and breakfast foods they offered and decided he needed to know every single thing about them so he could knew what to recommend. So he spent the first few months slowly tasting and testing all of the items on Gregory’s menu, memorizing their texture, their density, their mouth-feel. He treated this endeavor like it was an added paying part of his job.

It was that dedication to customer service that helped Bucky work his way from part time to full, and when he was offered a full time spot at the only Brooklyn location near Borough Hall, he snapped it up. Not only was it in Brooklyn, so the commute wasn’t too bad, but it was under one of his best friends, Sam Wilson. 

“You know he’d love it if you told him,” Nat tried again. “He’s right in the office, talking to Sam. He came in on a day off. It won’t be any HR violation-”

Bucky immediately waved his arms and blew a tight stream of air in Nat’s direction, doing a probable flawless impersonation of Donald Duck to get her to shut up.

Bucky Barnes loved his job. Loved the food, the coffee, the people he got to see every day. Sure, his clothes stank of coffee beans when he got home and sometimes the customers made him want to get extra stabby. It didn’t matter. This job rocked.

But more than anything? More than the coffee, or the pastries, or the customers?

Bucky Barnes loved Steve Rogers.

Loved him so much Bucky’s stomach was an active garbage disposal every time he saw him. 

Bucky had loved Steve from the first time he saw him, when Bucky had turned up to work and Steve was there, hunky and golden, for his first day of barista training. Once he shoved his tongue back inside his dropped, gaping mouth, Bucky had pushed into Sam’s office and announced “You can’t hire him.”

Sam looked up from his computer to gaze at Bucky with a slow, teasing smile cresting his face. “He’s already hired. So don’t fuck him at work, ok? It’s a total health hazard.”

And it just got worse from there. Because Steve Rogers wasn’t just built like the Greek Gods had some time to kill and decided to get all creative with their proportions and shit. No, Steve Rogers had to be kind. And passionate. And  _ funny.  _ And he fought for the little guy. Bucky couldn’t count the amount of times he’d seen Steve puff up his chest and walk straight towards some douchebag hitting on a harried-looking girl, telling them they had to get out, or the times Steve had come in railing about some new local policy, or the state of the MTA, or the way the government was limiting the rights of women. It only served to turn Bucky’s crank even more. Hot and politically active? Sign him up.

Nobody would ever guess that under that tough, hot, fiery exterior lay a guy who loved movies from the 40s and sitting with a sketchpad in Prospect Park on his day off, drawing the people who walked by.

Steve was only part-time at Gregory’s. Slinging coffee, for Steve, wasn’t a destined gig the way it was for Bucky (and he was damn proud of that, he loved the industry and loved every single one of his exacting, maddening customers). No - Steve was a grad student at FIT in their Illustration program. His sketches and watercolors covered the walls of his apartment. “Just stuff I’m working on,” Steve had said, bashfully shoving more sheafs of paper into a desk drawer so Bucky couldn’t see. It was so cute Bucky wanted to throw up and jump off a bridge.

Bucky loved every single thing about Steven Grant Rogers. Loved his drive. Loved his talent. His intelligence. His softness. His empathy. His grit.

Shit, Bucky loved Steve every time he came into work for his shift and Steve threw him that easy, tired smile, the one that showed he was up way too late working on some brilliant piece of art. 

“Heart eyes, motherfucker,” he heard Nat murmur, and Bucky realized he had been drifting off on a Steve-shaped reverie.

“Shut up,” he muttered, and refilled her coffee to placate her.

It was the dead period right before lunch, before everyone would come in on their work breaks and get an afternoon pick-me-up. Every time the door opened, a soft, late summer breeze would float in, and Bucky would take in a deep, satisfying breath.

“We’re really good friends,” he said, looking intensely at a bottle of Califia Farms almond milk. “I don’t want to fuck that up.”

 

* * *

 

_ “So you went through all of them?” Steve looked at the pastry display, then at Bucky, eyes lit up with amusement. It made Bucky want to cry with how much he wanted him. _

_ “Yeah,” he stammered, looking away from Steve so he didn’t do something stupid. He ran his hand across the glass next to a banana nut muffin. “I figured, I should know what I’m selling, right? If you work at a restaurant, you need to know how things taste so if someone asks what you recommend, you can be honest with them.” _

_ “Good point,” Steve admitted. His eyes scanned the pastries. “Well. What do you like best?” _

_ Bucky fought back the urge to say  _ you, you beautiful, amazing idiot, I want you, I want you more than i want any scone or pound cake or doughnut hole  _ and crunched up his eyes in thought. “Well, as far as the stuff they still sell, I like the apple fritter. Really sweet, but not too dense, and the chunks of apple are  nice and big. But…” He couldn’t stop himself, letting out a soft sigh. _

_ “What?” Steve pressed. _

_ “It’s just that…” Bucky flopped down onto a stool. “They used to have this thing called a Cinnamon Blowout.” _

_ “Sounds intense.” _

_ “Intense and amazing.” Bucky let out a soft sound at the memory of it. “Have you ever heard of babka? It’s like, sliceable cinnamon roll in a loaf. The blowout is like that but also combined with a fritter, in a big roll. With chocolate. Chocolate and cinnamon in a big muffin bun.”  _

_ “Wow," Steve murmured, his voice sounding a little far away. _

_ “And I’m not even describing it correctly. It’s so good, you might die,” Bucky said, softening at the thought of cinnamon, sugar, and butter, combined with flaky, delicious pastry, rolled up in a pull-apart dough, baked to perfection. Paired with a cup of Gregory’s coffee, it was the ultimate breakfast or afternoon treat.“I used to get one with my sister all the time. She loved it, maybe even more than I did. We were gutted when they discontinued it. I really, really wanted to see if I could recreate it at home.” _

_ “You bake?” Steve looked up from his lunch, eyes lit up with interest. _

_ “Uh, yeah.” Bucky scratched the back of his head. “Just for fun. I like seeing if I can recreate stuff at home. I haven’t gotten the Cinnamon Blowout right yet.” _

_ “That sucks,” Steve said. _

_ “Yeah. I mean, I get that things change and items have to be switched out for new product. But...I’m not gonna sit here and say I didn’t protest the change. Sam is still annoyed by how much I whined about it.”  _

_ Steve laughed, and it was every good type of music. Better than anything playing on the radio. _

 

* * *

 

When Sam and Steve emerged from the office, Bucky was wiping down the counter after the new trainee, Peter Parker, had accidentally spilled a customer’s golden mylk. “Hey, everything going well?” he called, wiping his hands on a clean towel.

Steve smiled, but there was something tight about it. Like the edges were snipped off. Before Bucky could ask what was wrong, Sam shot him a look that silenced him right up. “Steve was offered a graphic design position, and just put in his two week notice," he said. 

Bucky’s heart dropped into the garbage and lit itself on fire.

“Con…congratulations!” he croaked, once he remembered how words worked. “That’s so awesome. Big doings for our Stevie.”

“Yeah, I’m really happy,” Steve murmured in a voice that suggested he was anything but. 

Bucky had been trying to get rid of Nat, but now Nat was nowhere to be seen, and more than anything he wished Romanov would waltz back in and say something smart, something that would help him sort all of this out. Because the only thing Bucky could say was, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He burst out of the back door and nearly shrieked when he saw Nat standing in the middle of the back room, waiting for him.

“What the fuck?!” he cried. 

“You need to tell him,” Nat insisted, ignoring the billion violations she was committing by being in the employees-only office. She played with her pocket knife, the one she had nicknamed Widow. “You’re going to miss your chance. He might go off to this new job and meet someone hot and end up married to him and adopting a ton of babies and -”

“Shut up, or I swear to god they will never find your body,” Bucky hissed. 

“Uh, Bucky?”

Bucky had never felt the blood literally drain out of his face before, but now he knew what it was like. His face got cold and clammy, and simultaneously his hands and feet felt thick and hot. He turned around to see Steve, who looked like a puppy without a home. A massive, golden, gorgeous puppy. Ugh. This sucked.

“Yes, Steve?” He kept his eyes squarely fixed on the center of Steve’s forehead. If he looked into those cocker spaniel eyes, he’d lose all sense of time and space and the way words worked.

“I...um.” Steve shifted on his feet, and thrust a piece of paper at Bucky. “I had to basically promise Sam my first born child to get this, but I wanted you to have it.”

“What-” Bucky unfolded the paper in his hands. When he read what was on it, he gasped. “Is this…”

“Yeah. It is.”

“This is -”

“Yeah.”

“You got the recipe for Gregory’s Cinnamon Blowout.” Bucky felt like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest, like one of those aliens from  _Alien._

“Yeah.” Steve flushed, a scrawl of pink from his neck to his ears. “I wanted you to have it. I’ve been asking Sam for it for such a long time, and I know you’ve been wanting it and couldn’t get it, and…”

“Why?”

The blush on Steve’s cheeks got bigger. “I wanted you to have it again. You liked it so much, and I know how much it meant to you and your sister. I -”

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Bucky blurted. 

From behind Bucky, Nat let out a noise somewhere between a snort and a squawk. He’d forgotten she was still there. “Do you mind,” he hissed, and the sound of footsteps retreating told him Nat was going into Sam’s office. How she knew it was there, Bucky didn’t want to find out.

In front of him, Bucky saw Steve close his mouth, open it, and close it again. His eyes were perfectly round. 

“I…” Bucky held the piece of paper like it was laced with gold, deciding to just spit it all out before he lost all courage. “I just...I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the second I met you and now you’re, you’re leaving, and I don’t know when I’m gonna get another chance, and-”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve interrupted, his face in a big, shit-eating smile, “if you don’t shut up and kiss me, I’m taking that recipe back.”

The paper crinkled between them as Bucky surged forward, wrapping his arms tight around Steve’s neck and kissing him like he’d never get another chance. He could hear Natasha let out a whoop from the office, and he knew Sam would need him back out on the floor, but all of that seemed pointless right now. 

Steve got him the Cinnamon blowout recipe. Steve Rogers wanted Bucky to kiss him. Steve Rogers wanted to kiss Bucky. 

Holy shit, Bucky was  _ kissing Steve Rogers. _

Steve’s lips were soft and warm and his arms were big and solid and comforting and his chest was  _ huge  _ but felt just right pressed against Bucky’s body. 

Steve felt like the best type of home.

When they broke apart, Bucky was pretty sure he was trembling.

“Took you long enough, Barnes,” he heard Steve whisper. Bucky let out a weak, watery laugh before giving one of those huge shoulders a soft punch (anything harder and Bucky was legitimately concerned he’d break his wrist). 

“I want to take you out on a date,” he finally said, when he could breathe normally again. Or as normally as he could breathe, with Steve so close, the memory of his lips so new.

Steve brushed Bucky’s hair out of his face, and winked. “How about coffee?”

*

The cinnamon blowout not only made a perfect afternoon snack, as Bucky had told so many Gregory's customers, but it also made an  _excellent_ morning-after treat, especially when eaten in bed with Bucky's legs tangled together with Steve's, the soft breeze blowing through the window. 

But Bucky kept that piece of information all to himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Cinnamon Blowout did exist, but sadly, it was taken off the Gregory's menu. All the other items I mention in my fic are still available at Gregory's. 
> 
> GO TRY THE TURMERIC LATTE, YOUR LIFE WILL CHANGE.


End file.
